


all the rowboats

by marginaliana



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, The Fracas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23230021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: Jeremy should have known that James would get it. And even more than that, he should have known that James wouldn't hesitate to cut right into Jeremy's soft places if he felt it necessary.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson & Andy Wilman, Jeremy Clarkson & James May, Jeremy Clarkson/James May
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	all the rowboats

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [all the rowboats in oil paintings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CZ8ossU4pc)   
>  [they keep trying to row away, row away](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CZ8ossU4pc)   
> 

He realizes in retrospect – about three seconds in retrospect, actually – that some part of him had wanted this. Not the betrayed shock on Ois' face and the blood blooming at his lip, not the sharp silence of the room around them. Not the way Richard's face has gone white and the way James looks more disappointed than surprised. 

But he'd wanted the knowledge of the consequences. The knowledge that they were inevitable, that he couldn't take it back, that he couldn't argue himself out of it, and so he didn't have to pretend to try.

He's been self-destructing for a long time, Jeremy realizes. Maybe even for years, in fits and starts. There must have been something today that made him decide to blow it all to kingdom come, although he has no idea what it might have been. 

Someone probably ought to be rushing in to put themselves between him and Ois, but perhaps they can all see it in his face that the worst is over. "Fuck it all," he says, into the silence. "I shouldn't have done that." 

He doesn't say, 'I'm sorry,' because he can't yet, because Ois and the others are in no place to hear it in any case. He doesn't say it because only half of him would mean it.

* * *

He's holed up in his flat, blinds down, soaking himself in a five foot aura of cigarette smoke when his phone beeps with a text message. He's muted everyone except for the handful that he really wants to be able to hear from – or needs to be able to hear from, anyway – and so he makes himself reach across the kitchen table and take it even though right now he can't think of anything he desires less. 

It's Andy.

'You awake and wearing trousers?'

Jeremy looks down at himself. He's wearing pajama trousers; they're greasy and spattered with whiskey, but they ought to count.

'More or less,' he texts back. 'Why?'

'ETA twenty minutes,' is Andy's reply. Which makes no sense, because they've already talked as much as they're going to talk, already said as much as there could possibly be to say. Jeremy's grateful for what's been said, of course he is. If Andy hadn't been willing to stand by him, it would have destroyed him. But they've settled that now.

Before he can think of a sensible way to communicate all or any of that, however, another message comes through. 'Bringing May.'

This is, to put it mildly, baffling. James has enough information to make his mind up about what he wants to do. He's probably made his mind up already. But if he wants to come and make a spectacle of himself by elbowing through a crowd of feral paparazzi, that's his own lookout. It's not like Jeremy has anything better to do than be here.

He sighs, texts back, 'fine, whatever,' and goes to put on actual clothes.

* * *

Twenty five minutes have passed, which is not surprising. It's James. Usually Andy can chivvy him along a bit faster than his natural inclination, but there's only so much that can be done and they're well within the normal margin.

Jeremy's just beginning to think about another whiskey when there's a knock. 

A knock – but not on the front door. Instead it comes from his french windows, the ones that open onto his tiny courtyard balcony.

Jeremy turns to look at it, but with the blinds down he can't see a bloody thing. The knock comes again, more firmly this time. It sounds impatient.

It's probably a mistake, but Jeremy goes to the window anyway, pulling up the side edge of the blind so he can peek out. Which is definitely a mistake, because what he gets is an intense close up of Andy's face – eyeball almost even with his own. He stumbles back. From the other side of the glass he can hear Andy cursing.

Jeremy ignores the insults to his brain, face, and choice of residence with the years of long practice. He undoes the latch and tugs the windows open. Andy nearly falls into the room, but he manages to catch himself on the window sash with one hand. The other hand is knotted in James' shirt.

"What," Jeremy says. "The fuck."

"You wanted me to bring him in the front door?" Andy snipes. He makes a shooing gesture with his head and Jeremy belatedly steps back to let the two of them in.

"I didn't want—" Jeremy starts, then cuts himself off. It's hardly a sensible idea to say that he didn't want James there at all. Not least because it would be a lie. The fact that James had gone to all this trouble to see him is… heartwarming.

"Anyway," Andy says. "I'll just be next door telling your neighbor how adorable her dog is, yeah?"

The neighbor's dog has some sort of breed name that ends in -poo, and looks it, so this is definitely Andy taking one for the team. Jeremy wants to tell him as much, but he's already gone back out the window and out of sight. Jeremy vaguely wonders how they'd got here – was a grappling hook involved? – but it seems much more important to pat attention to James who, after all, was the one who wanted to be here.

He turns away from the window to gesture at the kitchen table. "Drink?"

James is regarding him with his head cocked to one side. "You could have told me," he says, ignoring the offer entirely.

"I— What?"

"You could have told me you wanted out," James says simply, and Jeremy sucks in a breath. He should have known that James would get it. And even more than that, he should have known that James wouldn't hesitate to cut right into Jeremy's soft places if he felt it necessary. 

"I didn't know," he says. "I didn't— I swear to you, James, I didn't know until I'd done it. Three seconds after and there was this great surge of relief and I—" He scrubs his hands over his face, not sure how to put it into words. "I think it had to be something final enough that I didn't have any choice anymore. Because if I had a choice then I had to keep going for everyone else."

James just looks at him for a long moment, as if gauging his sincerity, and then at last he snorts and says, "You could've just had a gay scandal, you know."

It's obviously a joke but something hot rushes over Jeremy's face and then he has to sit down, because he didn't know this, either. Not until just now. "Maybe a bit close to home, that," he says weakly.

"Oh," James says. "Oh, Jez." It's not quite pity, which is the only thing that makes it bearable. He puts a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. "Did you really not know that?"

"I'm a fucking shambles," Jeremy says.

"Look, I know you've got into the habit of wanting things because you want to help people or because you have an image to maintain or because you want to metaphorically poke someone in the eye," James says. "But, Jez… you are allowed to want things just because you want them."

Jeremy lifts his head. "Am I?" he asks. Because… because… Because even though he hadn't known that last thing, it's not much of a leap to the next one. And what does he have to lose?

But now it's James' turn not to look him in the eye. "Of course you are," he says, but he takes his hand away.

"Apparently not," Jeremy says, his bravery draining abruptly away. He had that much to lose, it turns out.

"No, it's—" James says, and then he sighs and puts his hand back on Jeremy's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Sort yourself out," he says, not unkindly. "And when you've thought about it for more than five seconds, come and ask me again."

"I— all right," says Jeremy. That's not exactly what he wanted, but it's enough to give him a surprising kernel of hope. 

"And I don't mean five seconds literally, in case you're thinking about—"

"Yes, yes, yes," Jeremy says, waving him off, but there's something comforting about the bickering. Like knowing what he knows – like _James_ knowing it – doesn't have to be earthshaking. It can just be, whether he decides he wants to pursue it or not.

"And while you're sorting that out, come up with something good for the three of us to do, too. If we don't have a plan by the end of the month I'll have to take up knitting and make you an orange 70s jumpsuit and no one wants that. Least of all you."

"I—" Jeremy knows his mouth is hanging open, but he can't quite manage to close it. James' blithe assumption that they'll keep working together – it's almost more staggering than the other extremely staggering revelations Jeremy's had today. "All right," Jeremy says at last. "I'll think of something. _Not_ knitting."

"Or water polo, or hairdressing, or sculpting wax mannequins."

"Maybe cooking," Jeremy says, mainly to hear James' groan. 

"No," James says, "no, no, absolutely not—" but he doesn't get any further because now they can both hear Andy's voice outside the window, raised just loud enough for it to be deliberate.

"How lovely to see you. Mrs. Finchley, wasn't it? You're looking well. The sunshine out here really is quite pleasant."

James turns to the window, then back, reluctant.

"Go on," Jeremy says. "Go make sure he hasn't fallen off the tightrope."

"It's not a tightrope, you idiot," James says, but he's laughing as he goes back to the window. He pauses there. "Call me," he says. "For what we're doing next or for… the other bit." His expression has gone a bit soft.

Jeremy doesn't want to let him leave, but he knows he must. "I will," he says. "Now make the circus clown stop traumatizing my neighbors."

"You shouldn't speak of Mrs. Finchley like that," James says, and Jeremy laughs so hard that he's sure James can feel it even after he and Andy have gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Now is definitely the time to post this depressing fic about the fracas that has been sitting in my WIP files for years, right? :D?


End file.
